


Emotionless

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death Eaters, Drama, The Quidditch Pitch: Darkness Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-04
Updated: 2005-12-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A post-war letter from Draco to Lucius.





	Emotionless

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: **Notes:** inspired by the Good Charlotte song by the same title, 'Because of You' by Kelly Clarkson, 'I Survived You' by Clay Aiken, and my own personal experiences. Beta by [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=ts_marked)[**ts_marked**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/ts_marked/).  


* * *

Dear Father,  
  
I don't know why I'm writing to you after all this time. I suppose it is my way of finally expressing my feelings instead of keeping them inside like you taught me. It has been awhile since we've spoken - years actually - but as they say, better late than never.  
  
To the outside, we appeared to be a normal Pureblood family. You and Mother raised me to believe that I was better than everyone else, that the surname 'Malfoy' was synonymous with importance and perfection. You didn't waste time with trivial childhood activities like playing games; it was always about behaving properly and interacting with the 'right' people. From the moment I left the womb, you gave me lessons in being a leader and belittling those who were not worth our time.  
  
Nobody knows what really went on in our house, the psychological pain that was constantly inflicted on me. The recurring disparage that I was not good enough, that I would never _be_ good enough, that I could never live up to your expectations of flawlessness. The invisible scars run deep inside my body; I'll take them to my grave. You taught me to 'be a man' and never show vulnerability, and for that I resent you.  
  
Your title may have been Father, but you were first and foremost a professor. A professor of life, if you will, or at least life as it appeared to you. It was always about lessons with you. 'Draco, you must do this', 'Draco, you need to understand this', 'Draco, you have to start doing this'. My childhood and adolescence was a series of lessons, each one more pretentious than before. I thought it was fun at the time because I was too young to know any better, and quite honestly I was just happy that my father actually chose to spend time with me. Even if said time was spent learning dark magic and being lectured on etiquette.  
  
It wasn't until I left for Hogwarts that I discovered things like friendship and love, feelings which you had deemed unworthy of my knowledge. Of course I never experienced these things for myself; it was always through the eyes of others, watching as the friends and lovers interacted, studying them. I walked, talked, and acted the way you taught me, and I received some faithful followers in my wake. They were not friends - they're still not - but they were good enough for me. Their presence pleased you.  
  
Still, I watched the other kids as they laughed and played games and smiled. Smile? I don't think I ever have. I was never taught how to smile, to laugh without directing it at somebody, to actually have fun doing something that didn't result in hurting someone else. I'm insanely jealous that I went all those years without knowing the true meaning of happiness, how it feels to have friends, what it's like to share and play with other kids and have fun. For this, I blame you.  
  
Because of you, I was paranoid and skeptical of everyone that crossed my path. Were they 'elite' enough to be in my presence? Were they worthy of my attention? It was always about pleasing you, Father, first and foremost. That was probably the only thing I had in common with kids my age, wanting to please my father. The difference is that I never succeeded.  
  
Because of you, Mother is gone. Really, she was gone long before she took her last breath, but all that mattered to you was that she was pristine and perfect at social events. You never noticed the liquor in her hands; you weren't there to see her fall apart when the proprieties were said and done. Mother loved me as a mother should, and you chastised her for it. 'Don't baby him, Narcissa', you said. 'I will not have my heir contradict my decisions and my faith.' I was always your heir, never your son.  
  
Because of you, I can't let anyone else into my life. You taught me to be selfish, to put me over everyone else (except you, of course), and to not allow anyone access to my heart. It makes for quite a lonely existence, Father. I have become a hermit in recent years; those who remember me pity me now. Some have tried to engage into conversation with me, to break me of my protective shell, but I cannot budge.  
  
Since the end of the war, I have been seriously questioning the beliefs and mental structure you have forced upon me. I am a man now, no longer an impressionable child, and I am of mind and power to make my own decisions. I am beginning to think that it was you that had the wrong idea, not everyone else. Your faithfulness towards the Dark Lord until the end proved nothing but hypocrisy in contrast to everything you taught me about being a leader. I will admit that I'm glad the Light won the war, as an eternity of bowing down to someone else and being forced to commit murder are not on my list of things I wanted to do with my life.  
  
Speaking of committing murder, what was going through your _mind_ , sending a sixteen-year-old boy to 'take care' of Albus Dumbledore? You should have known I wouldn't be able to do it; my reluctance towards following in your hypocritical footsteps had obviously set in by then. If it wasn't for Mother stepping in against your wishes, I most likely would not be here today. I do believe that was when I started seeing through you, especially since I was forced to leave Hogwarts and go into hiding until just a few years ago. I have yet to finish my education - not that you care; that never really mattered to you - and quite honestly, I have no desire to. I've been ostracized from the wizarding world due to my association with you and what you forced me to do; I don't believe anyone will be knocking down my door wanting to give me a job regardless of my education. I may as well live as a Muggle for the rest of my life.  
  
You would be so ashamed of me now. I freed all of our House-Elves and taught myself how to cook and clean and take care of myself using little or no magic. I gave testimony to the Wizengamot as to the names of _all_ of Voldemort's followers in exchange for immunity for my attempted actions in 1997. I destroyed all of your dark magic spellbooks, cursed objects, and anything else in that house that could be used to harm somebody. I spend a majority of my time making life-saving potions for the hospital and trying to create more cures based on the theories and hypotheses that Professor Snape left behind.  
  
You would be so ashamed of me now, and that in itself makes me proud. Despite the years of brain-washing and harsh lessons, I've survived you. I'm here, making a life for myself without you to guide me in the wrong direction, and for that I am happy. I'm still trying to overcome certain restrictions you placed on me in my youth, as far as interacting with other people and learning how to feel certain emotions, but I can say I've made some progress. It feels like I'm growing up all over again, this time the right way.  
  
I will admit that I miss you. Sometimes I forget and imagine this happy family - you, Mother, and me - sitting around the dining table and discussing our days over dinner, our days which did not include killing anyone, topping off a bottle of liquor, or hurting somebody's feelings. I imagine us all smiling, showing affection, and laughing at each other's jokes. I imagine going to play with my friends - real friends - while you and Mother spend time alone. I imagine falling in love, leaving school, getting married, making you proud with my choice of career. I imagine all the things that never happened and will never happen, thanks to you.  
  
They're all just memories now, pieces of the past I can reflect upon and call to the surface of my mind when I want to remember. I've learned from your mistakes, Father, the exact _opposite_ of your intentions. I know Mother would be proud; as for you, your opinion no longer matters to me. It may take me the rest of my life to learn how to live happily, but at least I now have that option.  
  
It all starts with this letter. Should I actually give it to you, I've made the first step in moving on from the mess you've left behind. I can't change the past nor do I regret it, but I _can_ learn from it and use it as a base from which to build myself. In a way, you have contributed to my newfound understanding of right and wrong, good and evil, and for that I thank you.  
  
Your son,  
Draco Malfoy  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Draco smoothed the crisp envelope one last time before placing it on his father's grave. There were no flowers, no decorations, no visible acts of mourning except for the inscribed name and dates on the headstone. The letter leant carelessly against the stone, almost unseen from the tall grass and weeds that had grown in the years since Lucius' death.  
  
Kneeling and bowing his head, Draco closed his eyes and wished for peace. For his father and for himself.  
  
"Goodbye, father."  
  
He straightened up and dusted his robes before turning on his heel and heading back to the house, never looking back.  



End file.
